


Say It Like You Mean It

by Ribbons_Undone



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Choking, Confessions, Demon Sex, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mutual Pining, Possessed Sam Winchester, demon bondage, demon matchmaking, evil cupid, the truth will set you free
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:54:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24321619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ribbons_Undone/pseuds/Ribbons_Undone
Summary: A Demon has Dean and seems intent on ringing the truth out of him.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 60





	Say It Like You Mean It

**Author's Note:**

> Set somewhere in season 2 or 3...basically before Sam and Dean get their tattoos and early on in their experience fighting demons. 
> 
> WARNING! Dubious consent. Demon bondage. I didn't feel like this warranted a full-on archive warning but if you like things black and white, this probably isn't for you. 
> 
> Mostly this is just porn.

_Say It Like You Mean It_

The demon found them in their small motel room about 500 miles outside of Dallas, Texas. It took Sam, probably feeling the ease of its pray from miles away. Now it had Dean anchored to a chair in its invisible bonds and was circling around him, leering.

“Nice to finally meet you, Dean,” it said, “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Sammy,” Dean said, “Fight it, Sammy. Don’t let it—”

“Shut your mouth,” the demon ordered, and shut it for him.

“I’m not like other demons, Dean,” the thing confessed, stopping in front of him and pouting at him with his brother’s plush little lips. Dean felt the heat run through him at that look, and licked his own lips unconsciously. The demon saw it and smiled, the glint of something evil in his brother’s wide hazel eyes.

“See, I’m here for a very specific reason.”

The demon started to circle him again—slowly. Dean craned his neck around when it slipped behind him, trying to keep Sam in his line of sight. He hated feeling so powerless against this thing.

“See, I know how you feel, Dean, and I think it’s time Sammy here knew it too.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dean demanded, swiveling his head to the other side as the demon emerged from behind him. Sam’s face smirked at him, amused.

“Just confess, Dean, and I’ll let you go.”

“You’re insane, you know that?” Dean scoffed at the thing. The smirk on Sam’s face grew wider.

“No, I don’t think so. Should I let you in on a secret? Not my secret. See, Sammy has a lot of secrets running around in this pretty little head of his. Want to know the biggest one?”

“Go to hell,” Dean spat. The demon leaned in close to him, placing Sam’s large hands on each his thighs. The smell of Sam’s sweat hung in the air between them. Dean’s nostrils flared at his scent.

Just as quickly, the demon moved away across the room. Dean took a few deep breaths, trying to calm his nerves and his sorely distracted mind.

“I knew I was right,” the demon boasted, “You humans are so easy to read. To manipulate.”

Then the demon was choking him. Dean gasped and sputtered, but there was no air to be had. The demon grinned at him from across the room, Sam’s hands at his sides. Sammy grinned evilly at him, a darkness in his hazel eyes as he watched Dean choke.

Then it released him, and Dean wheezed around his crushed windpipes. The thing in Sam let his hands go and they flew to his neck to rub away the burning feeling of the demon’s grip.

“Just say the words, Dean, and this will all be over. Tell Sammy how you feel and we’re done here.”

“I don’t…” Dean choked on the words, his throat raw, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he forced out in a hoarse voice.

“Come on, Dean-o,” the demon cooed, “Make Sammy’s day. Tell him what he wants to hear.”

“You know what would make my day?” Dean asked, giving the demon a lopsided smile, “To know what’s rattling around in that piss-crazy head of yours.”

“He wants you, Dean,” the demon said, leaning in close. Sam’s lips brushed his ear and Dean’s eyelashes fluttered closed involuntarily. “Just as you want him. He wants to hear you say it.” Sam’s tongue ran along the rim of his ear as the demon breathed its poison into him. “In fact, it’s all he can think about these days. Those three sweet words that will make everything ok.”

“Go to hell,” Dean spat. He knew they weren’t the three the demon wanted.

A flash of anger filmed Sam’s eyes black and then the demon had him again in a strangle hold. Dean screwed his eyes shut and clawed at his neck, waiting for it to be over.

Suddenly it was, and he collapsed into the chair. The demon pinned his arms down again, moving closer. Dean struggled for breath, eyeing the thing.

“The truth will set you free, Dean,” the thing that wasn’t Sam said.

“What is this, a slumber party?” Dean joked. There wasn’t much mirth left in him, but he forced it out in a laugh all the same. He bent over in the chair, still catching his breath. “I dare you to let me go, see what happens to your sorry ass.”

“Always the smartass, eh Dean?” the demon said. “Do you really think you can hurt this face?”

The demon brought Sam’s face closer, put on that puppy-dog look that it knew could break through all the walls to his heart. Dean screwed his eyes shut so that he didn’t have to look.

“Oh no, Dean. You’re not getting away that easily,” the demon said in a low, honeyed voice. Sam’s face was just inches from his own. He could feel his brother’s slow exhale across the bridge of his nose.

And then warm, soft lips were on his. Dean gasped, his eyes snapping open just as his mouth fell slack in shock. The demon—Sam’s lips were on his own, and he was doing a lousy job of not kissing back.

The demon broke away, but kept Sam’s face—his lips—close to Dean’s.

“I told you, Dean,” it said softly, “I know your secret. And now Sammy knows too.”

Dean shut his eyes and bit back a loud groan. He pulled against the invisible restraints keeping him in this chair.

“We’ve got all the time in the world here, Dean. Tell me, what do you want? Cuz I can do it, you know. Anything you want your Sammy to do, he will. Because I can make him do it.”

The words were true poison in Dean’s ears, and he was so going to hell because just the thought of having Sammy like that was making him hard. Dean squeezed his eyes shut all the tighter and jerked against the demon’s invisible force.

“What do you want, Dean?” Sam’s voice whispered low in his ear. “Anything for my big brother.”

“Stop it!” Dean barked, eyes snapping open in fury. “Let him go, you sick fuck.”

“Oh don’t worry, I will,” the demon said, smiling sweetly at him. It loomed closer again, and Sam’s lips brushed his ear. “But not until you admit that you want this. That you _need_ it.”

“Oh God…” Dean looked away from the thing wearing his brother’s face. A sinking knot in his gut told him that the demon was telling the truth. It was messing with them. Both of them. If he told it what it wanted to hear, it would let Sammy go just as the words crossed his lips, and then Sam…

It was going to win, plain and simple as that. It was going to get what it wanted. Dean knew it, and the demon knew it too. Things would never be the same after tonight.

The demon straddled his lap, running warm hands up and under Dean’s light-gray tee. Dean tried not to move, tried so hard not to let his body react, but everything around him was betraying him and he just couldn’t help it. His body arched at Sam’s touch, straining against the bonds holding him to the chair. Sam’s fingers ghosted over his chest, over his nipples, causing the goose-flesh to rise everywhere they touched. Dean moaned when they spread across his stomach. Sam’s fingers grasped his belt and tugged, shifting Dean’s weight just enough to rub against the hard-on trapped inside his jeans. This time when Dean moaned, Sam’s lips muffled his escaped arousal.

Sam’s fingers played with the clasp on his pants, unbuttoning it excruciatingly slow and following with the zipper. Sam—the _demon_ , Dean had to remind himself—dipped a hand under his boxer-briefs.

Dean was doing a lousy job separating the demon from his brother’s hands once they started moving. Instinct took over and he bucked into Sam’s hand as the demon tugged on his hardened cock.

Sam’s mouth had never left his, but dipped and rolled their tongues together as his fingers worked magic below. Now his mouth trailed down the side of Dean’s face, leaving open-mouthed kisses everywhere they touched. Lips pressed into the crook of his neck, and a tongue traced the stout muscles up to his ear. Sam’s large, soft mouth covered the soft appendage whole, sucking and licking—

And then it happened. The demon pulled away. Sam blinked back the disorientation as the room and his surroundings came into sharp focus and he realized where he was. And what he was doing.

“Dean?” the line of panic in his brother’s voice cut through Dean’s arousal like a knife. Dean jerked back to reality when he realized what the demon had done.

“Sammy, is that you?” he asked, a little breathless.

“Dean what is happening? Why am I—? What are we—?”

Sam looked down from where he was still straddling his brother, a hand jammed into his pants. He jerked his hand out as if it had been burned.

“The demon, Sammy,” Dean said, his lips trembling. “The demon it—”

Sam climbed off of him and knelt down in front of his brother.

“What did it do to you, Dean?” Sam asked.

Dean leaned forward, placing his head in his hands. He took a few deep breaths to get his desire under control, willing away his raging hard-on. Just like a demon to leave him half-cocked. After a minute he looked up.

“What do you remember, Sammy?” he asked. Lines of pain were etched into his face. He had a sinking feeling the demon had Sam awake for most of what happened.

“It’s all a little blurry,” Sam said. “I—we—”

Turning pale, Sam stood up and backed away from Dean until he hit the far wall. His wide, sweaty palms spread across the sheetrock behind him.

“What the hell did it want, Dean?” Sam asked, “It kept saying it wanted something from you.”

“I don’t know,” Dean lied, avoiding his brother’s eyes. “The fucker’s sick. It—”

“Is that really how you feel, Dean boy?”

Dean’s gaze snapped up to his brother’s face. Sam’s eyes blinked black. The demon had returned.

“Let him go!” Dean demanded. The demon lashed out, pressing Dean back against the chair before he could rise to his feet to fight back.

It was choking him again. Dean sputtered, and his eyes bugged out of his head as he tried to breathe but couldn’t. An invisible force wrapped around his neck and he clawed at it to no avail.

It was longer this time. That much he knew because when it finally ended he was blinking back spots of black and suddenly Sam’s face was right up against his. Before he could draw more than one shallow breath of air, the demon was kissing him—hard—and shoving Sam’s tongue down his throat.

It broke away but kept hold of the back of Dean’s neck. Dean’s head sagged, and the demon lifted his chin up to face Sam’s dark hazel eyes. The look in them seemed worried, the thick brows above his brother’s eyes caved into his forehead so that lines connected the two. If Dean didn’t know for sure it was all an act, he might have been convinced.

“Let him go,” Dean pleaded, his world hazy, the energy ebbing from him from the brunt of the attack. “Please, I’ll do what you want, just let him go.”

“Say it then,” said the demon, “Tell the truth, Dean.”

“I…” Dean’s voice hitched, and suddenly there were tears in his eyes. The demon waited, watching him with intense precision. As soon as he said it, the demon would let go. But it was the only way to end this torment.

“I want you, Sammy.”

Sam blinked, finding himself again in the chair, on top of Dean. Dean was looking at him with tears in his eyes and a deep, pleading pain that begged to be set free.

“Dean?”

Sam’s one hand was gripping Dean’s chin. The other was behind his head. But he didn’t move either of them, just stared into his brother’s deep green eyes.

“Come on, Sammy, get off of me,” Dean said, feigning that strange mixture of annoyance and amusement that Sam was so accustomed to.

“What just happened, Dean?” Sam asked, ignoring his request.

“I said, get off me, Sam,” Dean said a little more forcefully.

“Did you just say what I think you said?” Sam asked. He still didn’t move.

“Get off!!” Dean barked, and this time he didn’t wait to see if Sam would comply. He shoved his younger brother to the ground and got up off the chair.

Dean placed a hand over his mouth and turned away, anger burning in his eyes. He whirled back around and threw the chair that had been his prison this past hour to the floor, shattering it. Sam just stood there in the middle of the room in shock, his big beautiful brain still trying to process what he’d woken up to.

“Dean,” he tried again, hands out as if to placate a wounded, cornered animal. It wasn’t far from the truth. He could see the hurt in Dean’s eyes behind his brother’s fury. “What happened, Dean?” At the angry look his brother shot him, he lowered his hands. “I think I have a right to know, don’t you?”

“No, actually, I don’t,” Dean disagreed, “Because everything that happened was that demonic bastard screwing with _me_!”

“So then you didn’t mean what you said?” Sam asked.

“No I didn’t Sam, I was just telling that thing what it wanted to hear, okay?” Dean snapped at him. Then he winced, because he had a sinking feeling in his gut as to what was about to happen next. Dean tried to think fast, to grab the flask of holy water from his duffel on the motel desk, but the demon was faster and threw him across the room.

Dean hit the wall above the bed and fell onto the cheap mattress, sending up a cloud of dust. The sheetrock above his head was cracked deep, and Dean was vaguely concerned with being able to pay for the damage when the demon gripped him by the throat with its invisible fingers and pressed him against the headboard. Dean heard it crack too.

The thing released him and he fell limply to the bed, holding his throat and gasping for air. The headboard behind him had a deep crack along its length.

“I’m disappointed in you, Dean,” said the demon, in that hurt tone that Sam always used when he really fucked up. “Thought you were smarter than this.” It stalked closer, tsking at him like a scolding mother. “All you had to do was tell the truth and I would have let your brother go.”

“When I get my hands on you…” Dean rasped around his raw throat, “I am going to burn your ass like there’s no tomorrow.”

“Oh, I’m so scared,” mocked the demon, throwing up Sam’s hands in staged fright. Its face grew suddenly serious and dark. “Admit it, Dean, you’re powerless here.”

“Yeah, well—” Dean was just about to bite back a scathing remark when it had him again, snatching the words from his mouth and the breath from his lungs. His chest felt like it was weighted down by an elephant. The demon pressed him into the lumpy mattress, pinning him to the bed.

“Really, Dean, this could be so easy,” the demon said, sweet-talking him like he was a love-sick teen. In that moment, Dean hated it, he really did. To hell and back again, he hated this thing manipulating his little brother.

“Stop screwing with me,” Dean said, still fighting back. He strained his muscles against the bed, but the demon’s power didn’t budge.

“Oh, you’ll know if I’m screwing you,” the demon said with Sam’s lopsided grin. It raised Sam’s hand and then there was a tearing noise as Dean’s gray tee split up the middle, bearing his chest to the demon’s—Sam’s—hungry gaze. “You have no idea how bad he wants it, Dean,” the demon said, peering down at Dean’s perfectly sculpted chest, his rock-hard abs.

Dean was barely able to raise his head from the bed to watch the thing. It pulled Sam’s own black tee off, shaking his brother’s head free of the elastic at the top like he was a model for a damned commercial. Sam—the demon—tossed the tee to the side and stood there a moment, deep hazel eyes smoldering as they watched Dean pinned to the bed. Then the demon crept closer, unbuttoning Sam’s pants.

Dean let his head fall back.

“Oh God, no,” he pleaded to the ceiling. He tried again to move, but his arms were pinned on either side of him as he lay—helpless and spread eagle—at the demon—at Sam’s—mercy.

The demon stepped out of Sam’s jeans and kicked them to the side, the bulge of Sam’s hard-on evident through the thin fabric of his boxer-briefs. Dean lifted his head again to stare at it, doing a lousy job of keeping his focus on anything other than his brother’s solid, trunk-like thighs and wide, powerful hips. He felt his own pants tighten at the mere thought of the monster behind the thin veil of cotton that was his brother’s prize choice in underwear.

Dean groaned and let his head fall back again to the bed. He screwed his eyes closed, trying to get a grip on his will and fight the arousal and desire that was coursing through his veins, mixing with the fear and adrenaline that accompanied the hunt.

Only he wasn’t doing the hunting this time around—that much was evident.

Dean felt the bed sag as Sam crawled onto it, crawled to where he was hovering practically naked over his older brother’s prostrate form. His head dipped down to capture Dean’s mouth in his, sucking at Dean’s lower lip and thrusting his tongue inside. Dean groaned and arched against the demon’s hold on him, fighting the monster’s invisible power.

Sam’s long, lithe body dipped down to cover his own, the weight of it pressing Dean further into the bed. Dean moaned again when Sam’s hips ground against his, dragging along his hard cock through the multiple layers of fabric between them.

“See Dean, you know you want this,” Sam uttered in his ear, licking along its rim. Dean shuddered—one long, full-body jerk that was both disgust and desire all rolled into one.

“Stop it,” he pleaded with the beast.

“Is that really what you want, Dean?” the demon asked in Sam’s fake pouty voice. Dean swallowed hard, twisting his face away so that he didn’t have to look into those big, hazel, puppy-dog eyes.

Sam pressed his chest to Dean’s and arched his hips up, hooking his thumbs under Dean’s denim pants.

“Sam wants this,” the demon said, and Sam’s voice strained huskily as the words poured out like silk caught on a thorn. “He wants it so bad, I can _feel_ it.”

Sam—the demon—huffed in his face, the ecstasy of its lust seeming to overcome it in that instant.

“He wants you so, _so_ bad, Dean,” the demon panted.

“Yeah and I bet you love that,” Dean said, disgust thick in his voice. There was a thread of strain too as he fought against his own sexual desire. “Bet you get off on it. Bet this has nothing to do with me or my brother, and how we really feel. This is just about you and your twisted, fucked-up fantasies.”

In hindsight, he really shouldn’t have said it, because as soon as he did the demon was choking him—but with Sam’s hands this time. Sam’s large, long fingers were wrapped around his throat and he couldn’t breathe.

And then the creature was kissing him again, and rolling Sam’s hips against his and Dean blacked out for a minute.

Sam was on top of him when he came to. The demon, or Sam? Dean’s mind was foggy, and he couldn’t tell—couldn’t remember. Sam had his fingers hooked into the waist of his pants and was pulling them down around his knees. Dean kicked his legs to help rid them of the stupid layer of denim, and thought that if he could move then that meant the demon was gone.

And if this was _Sam_ , then it was open season.

In the next moment Dean was surging up with his hands to grab the sides of Sam’s head and bring him down into a hard kiss.

“Dean!” Sam yelled, fighting him and breaking away, “What are you doing, man?”

Sam sat back on his heels and stared down at his brother’s mostly-naked form. Then he stared down at his own mostly-naked form.

“What the hell? What happened to our clothes?” Sam asked.

“Demon,” Dean answered, rolling to his side and wiping his mouth with his hand. It shook slightly, he noticed to his chagrin, and tried again to bury the lust he’d kept under lock and key for so many years.

But it was out, and there was no going back it seemed. Dean could feel the heat off his brother’s—frankly ridiculously—huge body and even though he was turned away, Dean’s own body trembled to be pressed against it again, to feel the strength and definition of Sam’s purposefully trained muscles.

Dean pressed his face into the mattress and tried really hard to smother the moan working its way up his throat. He just barely won out.

Sam’s lips on his ear, his hand on Dean’s shoulder, rolling him over. For a second Dean thought it was Sam—his Sam—but then his hazel eyes blinked to black and Dean knew it was just another trick. He let out a mangled sob, the sound catching in his throat.

“Give it up, Dean,” the demon spoke, running Sam’s long index finger down the side of his face and across his trembling lips. “It would be so easy, just say the words.”

“I’ve played your game,” Dean said, both angry and emotionally wrecked. The tears drained down the side of his face and into his ears, making them itch, “Just let us go, huh? You’ve made your point, man.”

“I don’t think you get it, Dean,” the demon said, in Sam’s soft, gentle voice. “I’m not playing any games. I’m just trying to show you and your brother what’s been there between you for…how many years has it been, Dean? Four? Five? Or has it always been this way?”

The demon gripped the waistband of his boxer-briefs, sliding them down his thighs. Dean didn’t try to fight back, just rolled his eyes to the heavens and blinked back the tears. He was tired…so tired of fighting. God, all he wanted to do was—

“Surrender to me, Dean,” Sam—the demon coaxed in his ear, pressing Sam’s broad chest against his.

Dean dug out the last remaining shred of his dignity and grit and clenched his teeth.

“Screw you,” he spat.

“Well, okay, but only because you asked so nicely.”

Sam—the _demon_ , Dean reminded himself forcefully—slid down the length of his torso, trailing open-mouthed kissed south along his chest and stomach to his navel. Sam’s lips hovered over Dean’s exposed cock—red and hard and pulsing with desire—and then a large hand gripped its base and warm, a tongue rimmed around its head, and thick, plush lips swallowed him whole.

Dean almost came right then and there. He moaned—loud and long and desperate, his hips arching involuntarily to force his cock deeper down his brother’s throat. Sam hummed in pleasure, and Dean felt the vibration of it against the tip of his penis as Sam sucked him off.

He tried to fight it—he really did. At least, that’s what he told himself later, after he came so hard and violent in Sam’s mouth that it wracked his whole body in jerks and tremors and seemingly unending roils of pleasure washed over him.

The electric buzz of his orgasm faded into the small room, sticking to the walls as the smell of his cum hung heavy in the musty air. Dean breathed heavily, his chest heaving as his body craved the air around him.

Sam—the demon—fuck, he didn’t know any more—licked the remaining cum off the tip of his cock lazily, humming in content and he—it—stared into Dean’s hazy green eyes.

“How did that feel, Dean?” Sam—Sam?—asked.

Dean let his head fall back to the bed, not trusting himself to speak just yet—trying frantically to regain a shred of sanity in all of this.

The demon—it was, Dean could tell now—gripped his slowly softening dick tighter, squeezing its base painfully.

“Answer me truthfully, Dean,” it ordered.

“Good,” Dean bit out, unwilling to play the sick thing’s games but not really having a choice in the matter.

“Is that all?” the demon asked.

“What, do you want a fucking medal or something? It was good. Great, A+. Kudos, you sick freak.”

“Say it like you mean it, Dean,” the demon growled. It squeezed tighter. Dean yelped at the pain.

“Fuck! It was—f-f-fucking hot, okay? Is that what you want to hear?”

The demon grinned and let go of him.

Dean’s head fell back against the mattress, defeated for the moment and feeling instantly guilty for what he just said. And what had happened. He squeezed his eyes shut. He just needed a minute. He’d start the fight again in a minute.

God, when was this torture going to end?

“Dean?” Sam’s voice, sounding alarmed. Dean’s eyes snapped open and he knew instantly what had happened. Again. _Damnit._ The damn demon had retreated into his brother’s psyche, leaving them in a compromising position for the third—fourth?—time that night.

Sam smacked his mouth, wiping at the remainder of Dean’s cum on his lips. He didn’t know what it was yet, and peered at it curiously, probably wondering at the taste on his tongue.

“Oh God, Sammy,” Dean rasped, the tears leaking from under his closed eyes. He brought his arms up to cover his face so that Sammy couldn’t see his anguish. It felt like his world was falling apart, the walls of his will crumbling under the constant mind games and emotional torture the demon was determined to serve him.

“Dean, are you okay? Are you hurt?” Sam’s voice sounded panicked. Large hands moved deftly over Dean’s limp body—because he didn’t have the energy or will to move a muscle—checking for wounds. They stopped at his neck where already the faint bruising was beginning to show. Sam jerked them back when he realized the patterns there matched his own fingers.

“Oh God, Dean, did I do that?” Sam said, horrified.

“I wish,” Dean said as a hysterical chuckle made its way up his sore throat. He let it out, shoulders rocking the small bed and causing it to creak under him. His arms fell to either side of his head.

Sam was still straddling him, still in shock.

“You’re naked, Dean,” he said, gazing open-mouthed down at his brother’s half-hard cock.

“Good of you to notice,” Dean remarked, giggling.

“This isn’t funny, Dean. What the hell is going on, and why do I keep waking up in your lap?” Sam demanded. He sounded angry now, but Dean just couldn’t bring himself to care. Far as he was concerned, Sam was getting the sweet end of the deal in this whole fucked-up mess. If anything, Sam’s panicked voice just made him laugh all that much harder.

“I mean it, Dean!” Sam yelled, his voice deep and serious.

“Oh yeah? This isn’t funny to you?” Dean jeered, bolstering himself up on his elbows so that he could peer at his brother. The ghost of a grin was etched across his face. “Because really, Sammy, I think this is just downright hilarious.”

“Dean, is this some kind of prank or—”

“A prank? Is that what you think this is?” Dean snapped, his eyes hardening with anger. “Get your head out of your ass, Sam, there’s a demon possessing you right now. You’ve got to fight it, try to figure out what it wants.”

Sam looked down at Dean’s naked and sweat-slicked body.

“I think that’s pretty clear, Dean,” Sam replied, his eyes wide.

“You want to get off of me now?” Dead asked. Sam rolled off of him wordlessly and Dean sat up and over the side of the bed, his limp dick brushing against his bare thigh, and ran his hands over his face.

“You’re not okay, Dean, I can tell,” Sam said, sitting next to him. He placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean jerked away from it, flinching from his touch involuntarily. “Sorry,” Sam apologized quickly.

There was silence for a beat. Sweet, sweet silence. Dean took a deep breath and tried to chase away the trembling in his arms.

“You’re barely holding it together, man, talk to me,” Sam said, his voice hushed and gentle and filled with concern.

Dean didn’t know what to say. He shot to his feet and paced the small room, his hands in his hair.

It was a mistake, because the lengthening silence gave Sam the chance to piece together his fuzzy memory.

“You said you liked it, Dean,” Sam said.

Dean opened his mouth to say no—no, he didn’t, but then the memory of what happened the last time he lied came back. If he denied everything, then the demon would take Sam again, and it would torture him again, and it would probably be worse this time—or better, which would be worse in the end.

So instead he collapsed onto the side of the bed and hung his head in his hands.

“This is all sorts of fucked up,” Dean said.

“You’re telling me,” Sam said with a scoff. He tried his best to sound nonchalant, humorous even, but the act felt forced. “Dean—”

“Don’t, Sammy, because I don’t know what to say,” Dean interrupted. “That thing has an agenda for you and me, and it’s not going to stop until it gets what it wants.”

“And what’s that, exactly?” Sam asked. He leaned closer to his brother, who lifted his head from his hands and gave Sam this look like he was lost in the dark.

“Honestly, Sammy? I don’t know. But I know I can’t lie, because if I do, it’ll be back.”

“Look, Dean, I know that creep did some pretty terrible things to you, but—”

“That’s just it, Sammy. Not everything it did was horrible.” Dean looked up at his brother, and the guilt was clear as day in his eyes. Dean hung his head again to hide his shame. “I liked it, Sammy. I hate myself for it, but God knows a part of me wanted it.”

“So then it—” Sam broke off and started again. “It was trying to get you to confess to that,” he said, ever-so-reasonably. Working the job, just like always. So like his little brother to have the capacity to be objective at a time like this.

“That demon seems to be weirdly obsessed with our sex life,” Dean admitted, “This is just all sorts of fucked up.”

Sam hunched over on the bed next to Dean, less objective and more shocked now that everything was out in the open.

“Huh,” he said, intelligently.

“Look, Sammy, this doesn’t change anything between us,” Dean said. As soon as he did, he winced, knowing it was a lie. The panic rose in him. What if the demon returned? He hurried to continue before it could. “What am I saying, of course this changes things.”

Too late.

Sam chuckled darkly, and Dean knew before his brother opened his mouth that he wasn’t going to like what this demon had to say.

“You’re going to regret those words, Dean-o,” it purred.

“Oh God, look—I—I didn’t mean it, okay?” Dean hurried to say, “I’m a stupid fuck and I’m dumb as nails and I might learn things the hard way, but I get it, okay? I’ll do whatever you want me to do, just let my brother go.”

“Bargaining for real now, are we?” the demon said. It raised Sam’s arm and ran a hand through Dean’s hair, down the back of his neck to rest at his nape. Dean winced and closed his eyes, even though the gesture was gentle and comforting. “Well, at least we’re getting somewhere.”

“What. Do. You. _Want,_ ” Dean ground out through clenched teeth. His eyes fluttered open, pleading. “Please, I mean it, I’ll do anything.”

“I told you, Dean,” the demon whispered. Sam’s face loomed closer. A thick, pink tongue darted out to lick at his brother’s lips. “Have you forgotten already?”

“Thought I—thought I said what you wanted to hear,” Dean said, licking his own lips involuntarily.

The demon hummed and smiled at him—sickeningly sweet. A bead of sweat trailed down Dean’s forehead as the hand on the back of his neck gripped him tighter, pressed their foreheads together.

“I think you need reminding,” the demon rasped.

The hand on the back of Dean’s neck suddenly twisted, plowing Dean face-first into the mattress. The demon stood and pulled Dean with invisible fingers to the middle of the bed. Dean fought to turn his head to the side so that A—he could breathe—and two, he could watch the bastard to see what was coming next.

Sam stood next to the bed, his thumbs hooked in the waistband of his black Calvin Klein boxer-briefs. “ _So preppy,”_ Dean had teased him when Sam had insisted on paying the extra cash for this small luxury. Sam had scoffed at him and mumbled “ _Shut up,_ ” under his breath. But really, ragging on his little brother was just a cover. Because what Dean had really been trying to do was not imagine Sam’s generous bulge in those tight little briefs.

There was no imagining going on now though, and the demon knew it. He slid Sam’s underwear over his brother’s wide—but still somehow incredibly graceful—hips and down his thighs. Dean’s eyes widened at the large stiff that popped out from the soft cotton—and Dean knew it was soft because he could still feel the ghost of Sam straddling his hard on while the demon goaded him.

Dean could barely think about what was coming next. He watched Sam—the demon—grab the bottle of lube from the bedside table and—had he really left it there? God, how did Sam even put up with his crap?—and step up to the side of the bed.

Dean was still pressed into the mattress spread eagle and stark naked. His balls hung from his quivering ass and his cock was uncomfortably pinned under his own weight. It was quickly hardening again—betraying him as the demon—as his brother climbed onto the bed.

Sam’s body leaned down over his, and Dean’s breath hitched in his throat when the demon whispered huskily in his ear.

“You know what’s coming next, don’t you, Dean?”

“Please, no,” Dean choked out around his arousal.

“Say it like you mean it, Dean,” the demon crooned.

“Please,” Dean begged, his lips trembling, his whole body quivering. “Please, don’t make me said it.”

There was the sound of the lube squirting into the palm of his brother’s hand, and then the feel of cool, slick fingers between his ass.

“You know you want to,” the demon said.

It slipped a finger in—Sam’s long, lithe index finger—and damn but did it go on for miles that boy’s fingers were so freakishly long. Dean groaned and pressed his cock into the mattress, his hips bucking despite himself. The demon slipped another finger in and worked him from the inside slowly, pressing in and up until Sam’s fingers were massaging his prostate.

“Say it for me, Dean,” came Sam’s husky voice in his ear.

“Need you, Sammy,” Dean choked out, “Need you in me.”

He felt terrible as soon as he said it, but then the fingers were gone—replaced almost immediately by his brothers wonderful monstrosity.

The scream that ripped from Dean’s mouth as his brother pounded into him that first time was pain and pleasure and relief all in one. Sam moved in him, his brother—the demon—letting out little huffs and groans while he rode Dean’s tight ass to climax.

It didn’t take long, and Dean’s cock was so painfully hard pressed between his belly and the cheap motel mattress that when Sam dug into him the last time, bucking with the force of his release, Dean came too.

His long groan mixed with Sam’s deep bellow as his brother rode the last waves of his climax, letting the euphoria of lust wash over him.

Sam collapsed on top of him, panting and spent, trailing kisses down the back of Dean’s neck and back. Dean’s chest heaved, and his limbs felt rubbery and heavy. He breathed into the sheets, already wet with his saliva and drenched with sweat.

Dean turned his face to the side and caught a glimpse of the demon out of the corner of his eye. Sam—it—was still pressing open-mouthed kisses into his sweat-slicked back.

“Have your fill?” Dean goaded. He didn’t care if the thing hurt him again—hell, considering how things were going, he would probably enjoy it. It was clear that fighting the thing with his denial wasn’t working, but he wished admitting how he felt would make the guilt a little easier to bare.

“What?”

Sam snapped upright, tumbling off of him and onto the opposite side of the bed. Dean rolled over and smirked at the creature as his brother’s eyes dragged down his naked and gleaming body.

“Like what you see?” he goaded further.

The look on Sam’s face was shock mixed with confusion.

Oh fuck.

Dean rolled to a sitting position and grabbed the sheets around his bare waist.

“Sammy, that you?” he asked, ducking down and looking up at his brother through thick—ridiculously girly, really—eyelashes.

“Dean,” Sam choked out. His mouth wagged wordlessly as he took in Dean’s naked torso, the bottle of lube on the bed next to him, his own wilting cock. He ran a hand over the mix of lube and cum and sweat covering him. “Did I just—did we—”

“Did we just fuck five ways into next Sunday?” Dean asked, the smartass in him coming from god-knows where. “Yeah, Sammy, we did. Because that sick freak of a demon thinks this is what we want.”

“It does?” Sam still seemed pretty confused. His brow knitted together as pieces of the last twenty minutes or so came back to him. His mouth hung open. “Dean, when I came to, I was kissing you,” he said.

“Yeah, that’s not all you were doing,” Dean said. His gaze dropped to his lap as he used the sheets to wipe up some of the mess between his legs and over his dick.

“No, Dean, I mean—that wasn’t the demon, that was _me_ kissing you,” Sam corrected.

Dean’s gaze shot up at that. He looked at his brother in shock.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying, Sammy boy?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know, Dean, you’re the one who’s been conscious for all of this,” Sam replied. “I mean, it’s all pretty fuzzy, but I—” He broke off, remembering something. “It kept wanting you to tell the truth,” Sam realized. Fragments of memory came back to him. The caress of Dean’s lips against his and the feel of his ass against Sam’s balls were among some of the strongest.

“Yeah,” Dean said, looking to the side—away from Sam. Anywhere but his little brother.

“Dean, did it—” Sam broke off, licked his lips nervously. “Did it say anything about me? About how I feel?”

“Yeah, it did,” Dean answered. He looked at his brother, unease set in the pit of his stomach as he watched his brother swallow nervously. “I’m pretty sure it was lying, Sammy,” Dean said. This had to be the most horrifyingly awkward conversation in his entire life. Was the demon trying for death by humility or what?

“You said the demon…It comes out when you’re lying, right?” Sam asked. Dean furrowed his brow, not quite following his brother’s train of thought.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Well then it wasn’t lying, Dean,” Sam said, “It was telling the truth.”

Sam looked at him then with pain in his eyes and that tight smile of his across his lips. His hands were clasped together in his lap, bouncing slightly between his legs as his tall form hunched over the small motel bed, the sheets bunched under them to hide his nakedness.

“Telling the truth about what, Sam?” Dean demanded. Because he had to know. He had to hear it from Sam’s lips, not the demon’s.

“About how I feel about you, Dean,” Sam said, his voice strained.

Dean took a deep breath, his brain firing off rounds of fireworks. But this could all be a trick. This could still be the demon playing them. He forced himself to keep a level head.

“Are you telling me a demon is trying to hook us up?” he asked, incredulous. A hysterical laugh bubbled up from his chest and he let it out. “That’s new, an evil cupid.”

Sam laughed too, the sound of it relieved but still ninety percent on edge. “Yeah, that’s pretty messed up,” he admitted.

“So now what do we do?” Dean asked. He was surprised at himself, at how easy this conversation seemed to be going, with how chill he was being about it all. A few minutes ago a demon had his brother’s tongue down his throat and his dick up his ass, for fuck’s sake. He cleared his throat loudly.

“You mean how to we get rid of it?” Sam asked. “I think that’s pretty obvious, Dean.”

Dean slapped his thighs and gathered the sheets around his waist. “Ok, I’ll get what we need. You get dad’s journal,” he said. He started to get up, but Sam pulled him back down.

“I don’t mean an exorcism, Dean,” his brother said, his large hand on Dean’s bicep. Dean looked at it and swallowed audibly.

“What _do_ you mean, Sammy?” he asked, his voice thick with arousal.

That’s when Sam brought a large hand to the side of his face and leaned in to capture his lips in his. Dean gasped and dropped his mouth open, allowing his brother to slip his tongue over the threshold.

The kiss deepened and Dean moaned into Sam’s mouth, his hands coming up to grasp either sides of his brother’s face. Sam’s hand was behind his head, his other pressed to the small of Dean’s back, molding them together in the middle of the bed.

When Sam broke apart, he looked at Dean in a way Dean wasn’t sure he would ever see. Lust, and Love, and everything else they’d been through clear as day in those deep hazel eyes.

“I love you, Dean,” Sam said softly.

“Love you too, Sammy,” Dean rasped back. He felt himself surrender to that truth, and leaned in for another kiss.

Sam’s head snapped back, his large chin almost clocking Dean in the nose. A black cloud escaped from his mouth, pouring into the air and disappearing into the ceiling of the small motel room.

“It’s gone,” Sam gasped, watching the last of the demon bleed out of the room. He dropped his gaze to his brother, who had been doing the same. Dean’s eyes fell to his, wide with shock.

“So what, we just… _confess_ and it leaves, just like that?” Dean said, incredulous.

“Like you said, evil cupid,” Sam replied, chuckling at the ridiculousness of it all. His hand played with the hair on the back of Dean’s neck.

Dean stared at his brother for a long moment before leaning in again to gather Sam’s lips up in his own. The two fell back onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, kissing and panting and petting and tugging cloth away from flesh with a desperate need that had been there for years.

Somewhere in the haze, Dean realized with a twisted irony that the demon had been right.

The truth did set you free.

_End_


End file.
